


This Night is Still Ours

by nonsannochetuseilantartide



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Has ADHD, Jonathan is Smol, M/M, Martin is Tall, Romantic Fluff, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, dancing in the kitchen, oh no Jon is crying :(, the boys deserve to dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:34:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28045515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonsannochetuseilantartide/pseuds/nonsannochetuseilantartide
Summary: Where Jon and Martin take a break from everything and just dance.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Kudos: 7





	This Night is Still Ours

**Author's Note:**

> this is the most self indulgent thing I've ever written in my entire life I'm sorry. The named songs are Centro di Gravità Permanente by Franco Battiato, Tanti Auguri by Raffaella Carrà and Notte Prima degli Esami by Antonello Venditti.   
> The boys deserve to listen to some old Italian music and I won't elaborate that.

The afternoon was slowly coming at its end, the evening arrived on the infinite Scottish prairies behind the Daisy’s wide windows.   
Martin was sitting on the sofa, reading bored a book that he even remember to take with him in that desperate escape to a safe place.   
He needed a safe place.  
They needed a safe place.   
In the background, in that simple silence that is created when there isn’t pain, a soft music was the only soundtrack, along with a noise of ceramic tableware that were moved and washed with a water jet.   
He didn’t remember if he had never said to him why, but Jon had bought his phone with him only to play music .  
He had cancelled everything that could connect him to London, leaving just one or two downloaded playlists.   
He was humming quietly behind him, in the kitchen, the hands in the sink to wash the dishes like a normal man, those ordinary actions that he was seems to taste like they were not just chores but some kind of rituals.   
The long hair and those white stripes so out of place collected in a loose ponytail, and that face so young and old at the same time, a cemetery of various scars that marked the dark skin, a very big jumper to cover that battered body, along with the jumpsuit pants.   
A living corpse that was dancing while singing words that Martin couldn’t even understand, that ancient joy that was craving so much.   
The partner understood that music wasn’t in English. The vowels were too prominent, let alone the presence of the t, and most of all anything seemed to have a sense.   
They seemed to be just pointless screams and words with guitar in the background.  
He tried to read the words on the book again and again, without managing to focus on a single word, so he decided to come at the solution of that musical mystery.   
He put it on the little table on the sofa’s side, turning around his neck over the backrest to see the other man.  
Jon was moving his feet in small movements, a ticking that followed the song’s rapid pace that they were listening, a man that seemed to be very passionate even thought he had a throaty voice, grumbling the words with his normal serious tone.   
More than everything, he was singing the lyrics with confidence, using the hands to help him keeping the rhythm that was going rapidly along with the trumpets, leading everything in claps.   
Martin was listening, the meaningless lyrics that were trying to gain an order into his head.   
He wasn’t catching a single word, but Jon continued to sing like a kid during a birthday party.   
The Archivist moved from the sink, snapping his fingers and singing like nothing happened in the past days, like nothing was important in that moment.   
Martin couldn’t catch a single thing, but he was happy. Seeing him like that was something that was warming him from the inside.   
He turned his head back to the windows, the night that had ate everything, waiting for the right moment to ask.   
He seemed to be so...light, after all.   
-Cerco un centro di gravità permanente- Jon continued to sing in what he thought it might be like Portuguese or at least Spanish, always doing those little steps following the music.   
He tangled himself many times on the woody floor, drumming his feet and persevering on his weird song.   
The curly one puffed, putting his arms on his chest.   
-Che non mi faccia mai cambiare idea sulle cose sulla gente- that thing that supposed to be an howling, and a repetition left incomplete.   
A whole chorus of voices even more deep to repeat the lyrics, that he was mimic without having the intention to stop.   
The one that was his assistant in a past that seemed almost like a dream heard an air movement behind his shoulders, the voice that was dissolving in a childish crackling.   
A thud.   
Martin was crossed by a lightning, jumping on his feet.   
Speaking about Jon, a single fall could be an omen for an hundred of things, none of them good.   
He’d been through a lot, really.   
-What’s happened? Are you okay?- as he climbed over the couch, a series of tremendous images went through his mind that he just wanted to leave in London.   
But, while he was doing that movement, he found a situation way far from the apocalyptic scenario he imagined: Jon was with his back on the floor, the hands fast to come on his stomach and an amused grin on the face.   
-I fell- laughed softly, stirring his usual neutral expression into a big, warm smile.   
Since when didn’t he seemed him smiling like that?   
Maybe, he didn’t at all.   
-You don’t say- whispered the other, curving his lips in a relieved smile.   
He gave him his hand to help him get up again, while the music was still playing. It was always the same language, the one that wasn’t English.   
-Can I...can I ask wha-  
-It’s Italian music, my grandma used to listen to it quite often-he replied in advance, scratching his chin with the same clumsy and new smile on his face.   
A minute of silence.   
-My father was half Italian, you know- to see Martin’s confused gaze, the man leaned against the kitchen’s work space, beginning to explain.  
-But weren’t you...-  
-My mum’s family was from Pakistan, my dad’s English Italian- muttered darkening his glaze for a single instant. -I don’t remember my parents… but from the photos my grandma shown me I took my mother’s appearance-.  
Understandable.   
They looked at each other for a couple of seconds, leaving the other thinking about how little in fact they knew about each other.   
They lived so many experiences together, but at the same time…. They knew each other, but at the same time there still were blind spots.   
Martin didn’t even knew that he was a quarter Italian.   
-I like this music though, it sounds nice- exclaimed then the older one, scratching his head with embarrassment.   
That deep voice has been removed by a feminine one, more paces, more trumpets.  
-Yeah, well- Jon leaned more on the work space, putting his gaze upon the small device a few inches from him. -He was Franco Battiato. The previous song, I mean-.  
If a few moment later he had seemed him smiling like an angel, now he was way more relaxed.   
-It seems like you love him, I’m right?-  
-My grandma used to play him on repeat- a melancholy wide smile, between all of his scars. -It’s been a long time since I listened to him like this. You wouldn’t say that, but I like to dance and sing-  
Martin saw his his teeth biting his lips from the inside.   
-During high school and uni I went to some theatre classes. I wasn’t that good but…-  
-I don’t think this, you know?- the older crossed his arms on his chest. -You were good. I mean, you are good-.   
Jon limited himself to smile, Carrà’s voice filling the atmosphere.   
-What was the lyrics’ meaning? I’m curious- he continued with the talk, adjusting his glasses on the nose.   
Jon though about that for a few seconds, the ponytail that become looser and looser leaving the hair free on his face.   
-There’s this guy that searches a permanent centre of gravity- the Archivist had the habit of using his hands to explain things. The hands were running into the air, creating and directing imaginary orchestras. -Like, a place to stay still. And then he says that he just really need to find this place. He really needs a permanent centre of gravity, but he can’t find it. And because of that he asks to many people where it could be, in a few words-  
Martin was mesmerized. He loved seeing him talking.   
-And then he manages to find it? The centre, I mean- he didn’t wanted to sound like an idiot, but with Jon around it was impossible not to do so.   
The other shook his head, like he was the unlucky singer.   
-No, and because of that he starts feeling blue and because of this he write another song named La Cura, where he just pat himself on the shoulder-  
-How miserable-  
-Yea-.   
That moment of stasis was broke by a few notes with the piano from that phone, that immediately made Jon stand up has if someone had thrown him a whole bucket of water on his face.   
-I love this song!- exclaimed, detaching himself from the place and coming back in the middle of the room, beginning to sing the lyrics like they were just words. His uncertain pronunciation that was that of a bother for him.   
He continued to twirling and twirling, like it was the only thing that mattered.   
For a moment, Martin wondered if he really was the same obnoxious and grumpy man he met many years ago.   
It was noticeable that both of them were smiling like nothing ever happened, like they were just two normal people. The one that can treat themselves with happiness.   
But all those scars and white hair made him come back to reality.  
Some people just aren’t mean to have quite lives.  
While he was still singing, Jon offered him his hand.  
Was it some kind of invitation?   
-I don’t know how to dance- wheezed awkwardly, talking about his clumsiness.   
The other replied with a wince. -Come on, I’ll help you-.  
They held each other’s hand, like two kids at the prom, giggling because of their common imperfections.   
Jon was a lot smaller than Martin, skinny as a stick, but he was moving with agility, tighten the other’s stubby hands, that was trying to follow his movements.   
And the Archivist continued to sing, the half closed eyes as he didn’t wanted to wak dream he was living.   
-What’s the singer saying?- at that point, Martin knew he just had to make questions, holding the other’s hands like they were priceless treasures.   
-It’s talking about the final exam in Italy, compared to the singer’s crush. It’s called “night before the exams” because of that. The last night before the finals-.   
The last night before the end.   
The last night before the jump into the unknown.   
He started to feel something into his chest, a sort of sixth sense since they went there.   
They were living the quiet before the storm, basically.   
-Ma questa notte è ancora nostra. This night is still ours- Jon didn’t used his powers to understand Martin’s dark thoughts, that there were showing trough his suddenly serious face.   
-We’re still here and we’re enjoying the moment, aren’t we?-  
Needless to say, neither Jon seemed to be at the top of happiness. But he was still smiling. He was still smiling because he knew it was the right thing to do.  
Because they were safe, and that was the only thing that mattered.   
They were still holding hands, the heat that was passing between the two bodies like they were connected by some kind of invisible string.   
Martin nodded, putting his hand on the man’s cheek. He passed his thumb on the bristled beard that he wanted to touch so much since he woke up. Since they both woke up.   
Jon’s beard, his soft hair, his hazel eyes so special.  
So big, so beautiful.   
Jon chuckled with sweetness, taking the hand from the cheek to the mouth, kissing the palm with the tenderness that just a man that suffered could show.   
And they looked at each other.   
Again.   
Maybe because they both missed each other so much the sight of the other that they couldn’t no longer do anything without it.   
The more they gazed at each other, the more they were seeing their future in the other’s face.  
They just wanted to stay here forever, in that kitchen, and the music that was always on.  
Jon was smiling in an unnatural manner, at least for him. His lips so tenderly pulled on his face, his scars that seemed to disappear illuminated by that grin.   
It was too big.   
Martin didn’t catch the tears that began to fill his eyes, the sobs that were fusing with the piano tunes.  
The smile broke in a weep, fragile like a window during an earthquake.   
Martin made an expression like he just had a rude awakening, opening his mouth to say something but staying silent.   
The hand was still between the other’s fingers, thigh as it was the last anchor.   
His moodiness wasn’t that of a big deal, but this sudden...  
He was about to take the man between his arms, feeling for brief instants his fragility.   
The situation was reversed.   
He perceived his breaths on his shoulder, the back that was going up and down and his head putted on his chest.   
Baring his fragility.   
Baring their fragility.   
Martin had tears in his eyes too, but he didn’t wanted to fall.   
It wasn’t his turn.   
-It’s alright, it’s alright- continued to murmur, passing the hands on the other’s shoulders.   
Jon was still crying like a child, weeping random words.   
Martin didn’t asked him why he was crying, his body was a book, limiting himself just to be his anchor and holding him, because his legs weren’t as still as before.   
He catch him between his arms with a terrifying easiness, the bare feet swinging outside his catch, taking him on the couch.   
He made them both sit down, cradling him like a mother with his child, holding him tight and let him vent.   
They stayed in that way for a long time that seemed infinite for both, when Jon looked up with his puffed and red eyes.   
-I’m not crying because I’m sad though, I was just...just...it’s weird. I mean, I was feeling so many emotions that I couldn’t bare to express them, so...so yeah- his tone was a incoherent slurring, while he was rubbing his cheek on the other’s hoodie, that was sighing patiently. -Sorry. I’m not sad-.   
-You don’t need to apologise, Jon. Everyone needs to cry sometimes-  
-You’re right though- sighed the youngest one, using the air to take off the hair from his face. -I just...I just want to stay here. With...with the tea and the cows and with you-   
Understandable as a request.   
But wasn’t he the one that was talking about enjoying the moment?  
-But we’re still here- said Martin on response.   
It was absurd, the way the roles switched.   
-We’re here- reiterated the other.  
Martin’s chest was so warm.   
And he was so small.   
But those tears weren’t made of sadness nor fear nor joy. They were just tears. Just water into his eyes.   
Just water-   
-You’re a treasure, Martin- he found himself talking without even thinking about it. All of sudden he felt all the tiredness of the day on his back. -I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this before-.  
A sour expression on his face.   
The playlist ended, the silence eating again the whole house.  
Just the beating of their hearts as a soundtrack.  
-Thanks for everything-  
-Thanks to you for the dishes-   
After that dialogue, the poet was about to put an hand on Jon’s shoulder, just to give him a caress, when he noticed the man asleep on his chest.   
The closed eyelids and the mouth coated on him, his delicate breaths to make him forget about the past weeps.   
Martin sighed heavily, and eventually took the man into his arms again heading to the bedroom.   
He didn’t noticed that he was singing the words he had heard, the last one they danced.   
Ma questa notte è ancora nostra.


End file.
